Kindred Spirits
by Estel Kenobi
Summary: How would two people who have nothing in common but their animal spirit interact if chance let them meet? And would they recognize each other for the kindred spirits they are?


It was a hard adjustment…this 21st century. But Merrick was learning. Like his animal spirit he was quick on his feet and quick with his mind.

He could recognize the different people who came through Willie's Roadhouse now. By the time they were through the door he had them sized up and if he was lucky…dismissed as a potential threat. Because somewhere along the way, protecting the old shopkeeper became nearly as important to him as protecting the earth. So Merrick watched and he learned.

The workers from the nearby saw mill carried the sharp scent of pine wherever they went. Dirty jeans and thick boots left a trail of sawdust wherever they walked. Regulars…Willie knew them all by name and viewed them as decent, hard working men. So for his sake, Merrick tried not to hate them for destroying the earth one felled tree at a time.

The truckers all had dusty faded clothes, checkered shirts and hats that reminded him of a duck's bill. They smelled of sweat and always walked like they were tired, shoulders always just a little hunched. All they wanted was coffee and a hot meal. And maybe a kind ear which Willie always gave them.

It was the bikers he had to watch out for. They wore lots of leather and metal…their skin marked with words or pictures and smelled of beer and motor oil. When a pack of them roared up and swaggered in with big muscles and big attitudes he knew he was in for a long, tense night.

When there was only one biker Merrick let himself relax. They were the loners…the ones he could relate to. Quiet and often brooding, they didn't want conversation…just a beer and maybe a few rounds of pool which Merrick always gave them. The silent company was somehow cathartic for them both.

But when one such loner parked his Harley outside Willie's Roadhouse…Merrick didn't know what to make of him.

His clothes didn't fit.

Oh they fit in terms of size. But they didn't _fit. _The leather jacket hung on him wrong, his shoulders held too square. His sunglasses were tucked in the collar of a bright blue shirt instead of on top of an equally bright blue bandana. The boots weren't scuffed enough…and though he smelled of the open road his complexion was that of someone who hadn't seen the sun in years. Not a man who rode for days at a time under the intense California sun.

In short…he was trying to be someone he was not. And Merrick couldn't quite categorize this man. His stride lacked the attitude of a criminal…but also the aimlessness of the lonely. There was something about him that unnerved the Lunar ranger in a way he hadn't felt since…no. It was nothing like facing the shadow of his former self. He wouldn't compare this man to Zenaku.

The stranger caught his stare and offered a polite nod on his way to the counter. Merrick returned it, still pondering even as the man in ill fitting leather took a barstool next to a young teen. He rested his chin on steepled fingers and gazed up at the menu posted on the wall.

The teen looked him up and down, trying not be obvious about it, but Merrick caught how her eyes lingered on the wallet poking out of his jacket pocket. Judging by the intensity with which she clutched her dirty pack, like it contained her life, she was probably a runaway. That and she was thin, pale, and clearly hungry.

Merrick edged closer…sensing what she about to do. It was wrong but he wouldn't let this man retaliate with violence just because she was desperate. Her fingers twitched. Taking a breath she dropped the pack she'd been holding so close and bent to pick it up, her hand snaking up to the stranger's pocket as she moved.

The blonde man turned suddenly on the barstool, "How are the cheeseburgers here?" he asked Merrick. His knees knocked her hand away as he turned and she blushed, ducking her head and quickly straightening…tangled brown hair falling into her face.

Merrick blinked, "Uhh…the burgers are…good. They come with fries," he offered lamely.

The stranger nodded and turned back around, flashing Willie a bright smile as he emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. "What can I get you, son?" the elderly man asked with an equally friendly smile.

"If you could provide a cheeseburger for me and also one for my friend here," he clapped the girl on the shoulder, "I would be very grateful. Oh…and coffee. Please."

Willie glanced at the girl and his grin widened, "Two burgers…coming up." He poured a cup of coffee and slid it across the counter with a small pitcher of cream and a small bowl of sugar cubes.

It wasn't until he disappeared back into the kitchen that the stunned girl finally found her voice. "I can't pay for that!"

The stranger smiled at her, "I know. It's my treat."

She didn't seem convinced and shifted in her seat, "You expect me to…ya know…repay you for this? Like…ya know…" she gestured vaguely.

Merrick might be three thousand years behind the times…but he knew what she was suggesting and it made his skin crawl. The blonde stranger didn't answer right away, stirring some cream into his coffee. "If you maintain a discrete distance from my wallet," he suggested with a wink, "we will consider ourselves...square."

The Lunar ranger crossed his arms and leaned against the pool table. So he _had _noticed. Interesting…

Perhaps more interesting was how intently this man was now studying a sugar cube. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, gazing at it with rapt fascination. Without putting the cube 

down he groped for a napkin, only breaking his gaze to start feverishly writing. Merrick craned his neck to try and see without physically walking over there. It looked like some sort of drawing. Like a…was the word? Some kind of color…red…green…BLUE! A blueprint. He eyed the stranger's shirt. Ironic…

A sudden wind gusted through the open windows, swirling around the room, blowing through his long hair, and carrying the distant howl of a wolf.

The man in blue stiffened and tilted his head. Merrick froze, feeling ice enter his limbs. It couldn't be…no one ever heard the wolf's call. It was a signal meant for his ears alone. But this stranger had turned and was now staring out the window with a thoughtful expression that set Merrick on edge.

_It was just the wind_ he told himself. _He only noticed the wind._

But Merrick felt the stranger's eyes on him as he hurried out the door.

0-0-0-0-0

Hours later Merrick walked back to the roadhouse with his shadow lengthening as the sun set…trying to rub the dirt from his clothes.

This battle had been a brutal one and he'd taken a blast full in the chest towards the end. His wolf armor protected him from the explosion but not it's concussive force and he'd hit the ground hard enough to rattle his teeth, demorphing in a shower of sparks. Then the putrids had kicked him around while he'd been unable to recover his breath but they met their end soon enough. He didn't need the others to protect him and he certainly didn't need them fussing over his injuries.

There was one less org to blemish the earth tonight and none of the other rangers had been seriously hurt…so Merrick supposed this could potentially be considered a good night. He could drink a beer to numb the pain and nurse his various cuts and scrapes in something resembling peace.

But as soon he walked through the door he felt the eyes on him…blue eyes. The stranger looked Merrick up and down, taking in his visible bruises and torn clothing. And…he grinned. Like they'd just shared a private joke.

Merrick felt a growl start to grow in his chest as he stalked across the room to go wash and change in the back. He waved away Willie's quick approach, not wanting to deal with the concern bright in the older man's eyes right now. Merrick was quickly becoming too irritated to come up with any sort of excuse for his roughed up appearance.

Why hadn't the man in blue moved on? Loners were not supposed to linger. It was just his luck that this one was probably spending the night. And probably, Merrick realized with a dark sense 

of dread, in the room next to his.

Still, he hoped that maybe Animus was out there somewhere, watching out for him, subtly influencing things. Maybe the stranger would be gone by the time he'd cleaned up.

_"Of course…Animus was pretty pissed the last time we saw each_ _other,"_ Merrick reflected when he strode back into the room and the man in blue saluted him with his beer. He held a pool cue in his other hand and after taking a swig, set the beer bottle on the edge of the pool table and turned his sharp gaze back to planning his next shot.

Merrick growled. He hated it when people did that. The condensation left rings on the wood. He stalked behind the bar and grabbed one of the thin cardboard coasters. He slammed it on the side of the pool table and planted the stranger's beer on it with a firm THUD. He got nose to nose with him and raised a challenging eyebrow.

The stranger eyed him. Very slowly he reached past Merrick, picked up his beer, and took a long deliberate swallow. He never once broke eye contact. Not even as he set the bottle back down, on the coaster, and raised a brow of his own.

For a long moment they just stared at each other. Merrick only broke it when he moved back to retrieve another pool cue. "Rack them up."

Blue eyes glinted at the underlying challenge.

0-0-0-0-0

Seven racks later and Merrick was impressed.

He relied on his pool playing skills to survive…nothing could keep them sharper. Yet this strange man was able to match him move for move. "How do you do it?"

The stranger grinned without arrogance, "It's simple, really. Assuming that the coefficient of friction between the balls is negligible, conservation of linear momentum requires the component of the balls velocity to remain constant. And since the friction force vector and the cue ball's acceleration are constant in magnitude and direction, the cue ball's trajectory will be parabolic."

Merrick nodded and hoped he didn't look as confused as he felt. There were so many modern turns of phrase that he was still unfamiliar with. But the stranger actually blushed a moment later, muttering what was probably meant to be an apology and looking rather sheepish. He coughed, "So…howling wolf?"

Merrick's head jerked up from lining up his next shot. The stranger nodded at Merrick's jacket and the Lunar Ranger relaxed slightly. He was only talking about the words emblazoned on his back. Still, Merrick mentally kicked himself for wearing Shayla's gift. It had not been a wise move.  


"It's a…nickname." Merrick hoped the other man would leave it at that.

The blue clad stranger leaned against the pool table and grinned, "Funny…that was my nickname too. Well…not the howling wolf exactly. They called me the blue wolf."

"I can't imagine why,"

The stranger laughed. His posture was relaxed, unlike Merrick's own, but his eyes were sharp. Calculating. "How does a man acquire a name like the howling wolf?"

"How did you get a name like the blue wolf?" Merrick shot back.

His grin widened, "I suspect…the same way you got yours."

Merrick's grip on his pool cue tightened painfully, "And what way is that?"

The blonde stranger's grin widened further if possible. He took a long swallow of beer, as if to hide it, and set the empty bottle back down. But he said nothing to answer the challenge.

"What's your favorite color, howling wolf?"

Merrick hesitated, "Silver."

"Hmm…I can't imagine why."

Slowly, Merrick grinned back.

The man in blue reached for his wallet and withdrew a business card, handing it to Merrick between two fingers, "Wolves look out for their own. If you ever need anything, give me a call."

Merrick looked down at the card. _Cranston_ _Industries._

When he looked up the stranger was gone and the door was swinging closed.

Three thousand years ago…there was no need for the six chosen protectors to hide their identities. But times had changed. Secrecy was now part of their code. And since you couldn't confirm someone else's identity without revealing your own, it made it hard to know who your allies might be.

But maybe the ones who came before him (or after him depending on how you looked at it) had learned how to recognize their own. Much the same way Merrick learned to recognize the different people who came through the roadhouse.

Merrick walked to the door, hearing the Harley's engine roar to life, and leaned against the doorjamb.  


The stranger waved once and pealed out, leaving a cloud of dust behind him.

A familiar wind picked up, driving the dust away and swirling around the Lunar Ranger. Merrick peered across the road and could just make out the form of a wolf through the trees, watching the motorcycle disappear into the darkness. The wolf zord bared his canines in what Merrick would swear was a smile.


End file.
